


It's not really a face.

by CloudNucleus



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Empurata, Gen, Gijinka, Humanformers, Implied Transphobia, Non-Consensual Body Modification, whirl is trans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-10 21:58:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18416663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudNucleus/pseuds/CloudNucleus
Summary: Whirl wakes up after a painful procedure.





	It's not really a face.

**Author's Note:**

> so this is gonna be angsty  
> This is gijinka, and I'll put a link to a drawing of my gijinka design in the notes at the bottom, but if you just want a quick little description, he's got pale skin, long-ish cerulean hair that's usually tied in pigtails, he's kinda tall and skinny, and he wears a gold pocketwatch (which he made) around his neck.
> 
> quick note: this ain't beta'd

Where am I? It’s… it’s hard to remember. I try to recall the last thing that happened to me, but I can’t when my head hurts so badly.

Fuck, it feels like someone’s pulled my entire face off and it hurts like the Pit! _What happened!?_ I wonder again. Last thing I remember, I was… I was being hauled away in chains. They brought me into the Institute.

The memories flood back and my head hurts even more. I struggle to open my eyes and I think I succeed, but my vision looks weird, like I’m looking at an image on a computer screen and not at a room through human eyes. I’m on a hospital bed. Someone’s standing beside the bed. They look very creepy, not just with their surgeon’s uniform, but with their sharp, angular facial features and sadistic smile.

Who the fuck is that? What did they do to me? Why does my head hurt so much? There’s a horrible ache around my wrists too, and I can’t feel my hands. Not really, anyway. I feel like there’s probably something where they should be, but they feel unfamiliar and stiff and numb.

I blink a few times, trying to clear my vision, but it doesn’t get any better. The image I see is flat, and I have no sense of distance at all.

“Ah, she’s awake,” I hear faintly, realizing it came from the person standing over me.

 _He,_ I correct mentally, but I’m not sure I’m strong enough to speak yet.

“That was fast. A tough one, she is!” Another voice, clearer this time - I’m starting to wake up more - and I can’t see this person from where I am but it’s definitely another person. Their voice sounds sinister, and their praising words are obviously not sincere.

“...He,” I force out, finally… and quickly realize something’s not right. My voice sounds strange, but more importantly, my mouth didn’t move. Actually, now that I think about it, I’m not sure I can move my mouth at all. I try, and it doesn’t work. But I can talk. That’s really weird.

Why was this happening, again? Could I remember? Okay, okay, I was in the Institute, never a good thing. Absolutely never a good thing. That was where they took people for horrible punishments like shadowplay and… empurata.

Fuck.

I try again to move my hands, shifting my body so I can see them.

They’re not there. At the ends of my arms are claws, two big, heavy, curved claws in place of each hand, with pointed tips on the ends. Their bases around my wrists are wrapped in bandages. I gasp, and it’s not through my nose but it’s a gasp, and manage to sit up.

“ _You._ ” I glare at the surgeon still standing beside my bed. “You… did _empurata…_ on _me._ ” I’m not sure what to say so I state the obvious. Why? What did I do? I remember they said something about me having been born into a military caste so I shouldn’t be making watches, I should be in the military. “I happen to like making watches, thank you very much,” I say.

The surgeon snickers. “Good luck with that now. Don’t worry though, now that you can’t do that anymore, you should have no problem with doing the job you were born for.”

I’m not sure how to respond, so instead I say, “Can I just see a mirror?”

The surgeon rolls their eyes. “Yeah, whatever. Not much to see, really.” They hand me a small mirror, and I try to grab it but I can’t. _Right. I don’t have fucking hands._

Maybe I should focus on trying to move my claws. They don’t look right and they don’t feel right, but when I try to move my hands, the claws do move. With a bit of experimentation I quickly figure out that they can move open and closed, and they can rotate. That’s not much, but I suppose it’s better than nothing. I try a few times and eventually manage to pinch the mirror in both sets of claws and hold it up so I can see my face.

It’s not really a face. I have no face. Instead there’s a metal panel fitted to my head, edged with teal like on my wrists - barely visible with the bandages wrapped around it - with a bright, glowing, yellow mechanical eye in the center. I stare at the eye - _my_ eye - that’s why I have no depth perception, I only have one eye. I squint a little and the eye in the mirror squints back.

I take a deep breath and let it out, feeling the air move through small vents in the sides of my new face. So that’s how that works. It feels really… wrong, but there it is.

“Hey, you done?” says the second surgeon who I think is behind me because I can’t see them, their voice sounding irritated and like they _fucking hate_ my guts.

“If it’ll get me out of here sooner, then yes,” I growl.

“Good. You’ll be discharged now, then. _It’ll be nice to be rid of you._ ” They mutter the last part. “Get off your ass and follow me.”

They finally appear in front of me - they're wearing basically the same clothes as the other surgeon. I glare at them the best I can with my new lack of a face, narrowing my single eye as I push myself off the bed, wincing as I strain my wrists. “Careful there. I don’t wanna have to install your claws a _second_ time.” I huff and finally stand up. Hey, at least besides my head and hands, I’m fine and standing is no problem.

The Institute worker quickly walks out of the room, and I lengthen my steps to keep up. The surgeon who was standing by my bed is already working on cleaning up. I catch a glimpse of them throw out a bag that looks suspiciously like it contains flesh. “ _Did that guy just_ **_throw out_ ** _my hands?_ ”

The worker doesn’t answer, just turns a corner and I follow. They lead me to a bigger room - the lobby, I sort of remember it, but it wasn’t like I was looking around a lot as they dragged me in here. I just remember they put me on the bed, tied me down, and started to cut into my wrists before… I must have blacked out, I can’t remember the actual procedure. It doesn’t matter now. It’s already done.

“All right now, Whirl, was it? Whirl of Polyhex?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I need to check you out, I wasn’t the one who entered you in here.” They open up a window on a computer at a nearby desk, typing quickly with practiced fingers. _That’s another thing I’ll never be able to do again,_ I find myself thinking, and shake my head as if that’ll actually rid me of the thought.

“Fine. Yes, that’s my name, Whirl of Polyhex, and I go by _he/him or they/them pronouns, thank you very much,_ ” I nearly shout.

“Yeah, yeah. All I need is your name.” They type some more and then say, “All right, you’re free to go.”

Before they can say any more, I sprint toward the door, and struggle with the handle. _Fuck._ It’s not a round handle, it’s the kind that sticks out to the side, so it’s not impossible, but it’s hard to turn since my wrists are still hurting a lot. It occurs to me that the surgeons didn’t give me any instructions on things like when I should change my bandages and how long it would take to heal. I’d heard that even years after empurata, it sometimes still hurt. _Fucking_ **_empurata_ ** _. I can’t believe it! Empurata! Me! I did nothing to deserve this! But no! I’m a fucking empurata victim now._ I’m overwhelmed with anger but also I just want to get out of here.

I finally get the door open, pushing on it with my shoulder and dashing out into the outside world.

And then I realize that I have no idea where I am. How do I get home from here?

There are people around and I suddenly feel self-conscious. I anxiously pull on my hair ties with my claws, taking out my ponytails and letting my hair fall over my face. It’s not much but hopefully it’ll help.

It doesn’t. I start walking, hoping I’ll find someone who I can ask for directions. Finally I approach someone, and I’m really uncomfortable and I feel like there’s a sign taped on my face that says “YOU SHOULD HATE THIS PERSON” and there basically is, that’s what empurata is, but I force myself to ask how to get to the street I live on.

The person steps back uncomfortably. “S-sorry. I gotta go,” they stammer, and run away from me.

I barely manage to stop myself from cracking my new mechanical eye with my claw by facepalming (for lack of a better word). I want to scrunch up my fists or play with my hair or twist the little knob for setting my pocketwatch (hey, at least I still have it), but I can’t do any of those things. Instead I settle for clacking my claws together as I walk, trying to find landmarks to orient myself with. I’m pretty sure I was taken kinda far away, and I’m not sure how to get back to my house, but I keep trying.

It takes hours. It’s getting dark by the time I finally find someone who’s willing to point me in the right direction.

“...Thanks,” I mutter.

I finally find my way back home. It’s late at night and my legs are aching, though still not as much as my pounding head and my wrists that still feel like there’s a blade slicing through them. I stand in front of the mirror, vaguely wondering how I’m going to wipe my butt with these claws, staring at my reflection. I push back my hair to look at the edge of my new metal face, trying not to get my hair caught in the joints of my claws. I can’t tell how exactly it’s attached, but I’m pretty sure there’s no skin underneath it. After a bit more examination I can find a small tube that I think is a replacement for my mouth, and it occurs to me that I’ll never taste my food again. At least it’ll be easier to eat healthier, but that doesn’t exactly make me feel better. Besides, with this new arrangement, I won’t even be able to eat solid food. An image of myself putting pizza in a blender so I can drink it pops into my head and I don’t want to dismiss the idea because it’s lighthearted compared to everything else I’m thinking about right now.

 _I should sleep_ , I finally decide, heading off to bed. _Maybe I’ll even wake up and discover that this was all a dream._

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think I'm going to write more partly because I'm not really sure what should happen next, like I don't think I know Whirl's actual story well enough, and also I don't know enough about either the real world or about Transformer society to continue. I mean, maybe I do, but I don't feel like I do, haha. But uhhhhhh here's what my Whirl gijinka looks like if you're curious? https://www.deviantart.com/kirbytardos/art/CYWHIRLGATE-793039856 Featuring Tailgate and Cyclonus. I ship the three of them SO HARD OMG


End file.
